


Erik & Christine

by MaleficentMo



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Fix-It, My poor baby Erik needs some love, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaleficentMo/pseuds/MaleficentMo
Summary: Based on the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea. A bit of angst at the beginning, and then just schmoopy happiness because Erik deserves it, poor baby. Rated Teen b/c I'm paranoid.





	

A life of darkness, alone and silent, forever. If you asked Erik, he would tell you that that was the life most suited for him. And he wouldn't be lying. However, even a solitary monster needs human contact, no matter how much he may wish he did not. He rarely did it, only a few times previously, but when he got so that he couldn't take it anymore, he would buy himself a whore for the night. He wasn't proud of it, but he did it. And he never brought them to his cave, the only place he had to call home. This was one of those nights. He rarely went to the same place twice, the mistresses requesting he go somewhere else when none of the girls would agree to a night with him. He couldn't blame them- he was hideous. This place, however, he had yet to get kicked out of, so off he was to the east end of the red light district to buy himself a wench. The matron was kind enough not to stare at his face, something he was not used to, and knew by now that he would want a room, and a new girl every time, so it made the necessity for conversation minimal.  
The girl who led him to his room was not unattractive, but was definitely on the underside of tolerable. But he was not one to be picky, so he took it gladly. The room was dirty, dimly lit, and smelled of vomit and ale, and Erik had a moment's pause of revulsion as he entered the room. The whore didn't seem to notice it.  
As she obligatorily positioned himself, he looked down at her and felt his need for release dwindle. He did not want this woman. He tried to push past it, to just get the job done and leave, and he would be fine, but found he could not. He could not make himself touch this woman who was looking back at him, bored and dead-eyed. Well, not looking at him. Past his left shoulder, more. She would not want to look at his face.  
He turned and left, walked out of the establishment. He didn't mind leaving them the money he had paid- hopefully it would go to good use.  
He walked for a long time. He stuck to back roads and alleys, avoiding pedestrians and carriages for the sake of his own- relative- sanity. He continued walking until he found himself on a small road amongst specialty shops and professional supply stores. The one he found himself in front of was an artist's shop, about to close.  
Inside the shop, he was immediately hit with the smell of clay and paint and oil and wood dust and spices and animals and a hundred other things. There was no shopkeeper in sight, of which he was glad, and as he looked around he was filled with a surge of creative inspiration. But not as he was used to. Always, when he felt it, he went to his cave and made beautiful music; sometimes sweet and lilting, always with an undertone of sadness; sometimes strong and harsh, expelling all his darkest emotions onto a sheet.  
But this was different. He wanted to use his hands, his arms, his whole body, to create something beautiful to look at. He was always surrounded by the ugly and the grotesque. He wanted one thing- just one- to look at that was holy. And so, not understanding why, but knowing it was necessary, Erik purchased marble, the largest block in the shop, and tools for engraving, etching, digging the beauty he wanted out of the hunk of stone before him. The shopkeeper at first tried to deny him the sale, but upon realising that the quickest way to rid himself of the monster was to do what it wanted, he very quickly took the money and scurried, frightful, to the rear of the shop.  
Erik was powerfully strong, but the massive stone was not manageable, even for him, to carry home alone. He knew he could not hire a man to carry it, so he took the simplest option- he stole a cart. Loading it onto the cart, he pulled his prize home, wondering through the long, slow trek why he was doing so.

\----------

He sat, staring, at the piece of marble before him. He knew he wanted something beautiful, but that was not enough to begin his creation. He thought of everything he ever wanted, dreams from when he was too small to know better- acceptance, love, nurturing companionship. Someone he would not need to pay to love him. Someone he would not have to keep captive. A woman. One who wanted him, one who was beautiful, but who did not let that beauty corrupt her as did the plebian beings who lived their lives above his lair.  
And so, he picked up his tools and, as though in a trance, he began.

\----------

THREE YEARS LATER

How could he ever imagine that he wanted this? That he could be happy? Foolish, he berated himself. And, a slight of a moment later, was contrite. He had his object of beauty. He should be grateful.  
He had no way of knowing what it would do to him, seeing all of his hopes and ideals placed inside the most angelic, otherworldly beautiful shell ever seen. To have what he wanted so near, but so, so far. Daily, ceaseless torment and a slow spiral into insanity was a small price to pay, he knew, for what he had. For his Christine. He was ungrateful to want more. And yet…  
He remembered learning from one of his thousands of books that in the old days, in the time before civility had forced itself onto the world, there was a woman. No, not a woman- a goddess. Aphrodite, she was called, and she was known to be the goddess of protection for those at sea, of fertility, of beauty, and of love. He remembered when he first read of her, he was filled with wonder and confusion. He could not understand how such a creature could exist. But now? Now, he was a desperate man. Now he was a crazed, violent man on a hopeless path, dreaming of something that could never exist. And so he did what his addled brain saw as the only thing it could do- he prayed.  
He prayed for a day and a night and a day, not stopping to eat or sleep or bathe. He asked for the closest thing to reality that he could bear- a wife. A woman, any woman, who could love him.  
And Aphrodite heard him. But as she did so, she shook her heavenly head, golden hair rippling, as she sighed at this poor creature's stupidity. He did not want a woman to love him. He wanted his woman- the woman he had created with so much care. His Christine. She had watched him do it, marvelled over the pains he took. And she decided to help him, not in the way he requested, but in the way he needed.  
After collapsing from hunger and exhaustion, Erik woke long enough to feed himself before falling back into Morpheus's careful arms.  
He awoke two days later to a voice speaking to him, and he did not open his eyes. He dared not, for surely such a voice, one that sounded like an angel taking flight, like the first drops of rain striking pure, clear crystal, such a voicd could only belong to the great Aphrodite herself, and he was afraid to wake from such a soothing dream. After a moment, though, it seemed as though the voice wanted his attention, and he would never deprive such a voice of anything it wanted.  
He sat up, opening his eyes, and looked around, but saw nothing. The voice spoke again, "Erik," it said. And it took Erik a moment to react, because… she had just said his name. He had never heard his name sound so pure before, nor said with such affection and-- no, he shall not go down that path. Instead, he turned his head to gaze in the direction of the voice when he saw her.  
He did not comprehend her, but he saw her. And when his eyes reached the sight it longed for, they poured forth tears, trailing down his cheeks and onto his bare, freshly-shaved chin. He looked down in confusion, to encounter… clean clothes, new ones that he had never seen. And then he smelled the wafts of fresh bread and seasoned meat and ripe fruit… He looked up in confusion, but only for a moment. Once he saw her again, truly saw saw her this time, he understood.  
"Christine?" His voice was hoarse with disuse, rough and deep, but she reacted as though it were the most beautiful sound on the earth. She sank to his side, tears of relief falling from her stunning blue eyes, "Oh, Erik! Bless the goddess, I was afraid… afraid you would not know it was me!"  
Erik's eyes flashed dangerously when she said the word "afraid," suddenly consumed with the foreign urge to find whatever frightened his angel and decimate it, and leave it as an offering at her feet so that she never feared again. After a moment though, that urge was gone as he comprehended her words, and took in the expression on her face- still a shred of apprehension, but everything else was joy and relief and… and the other thing that he was frightened to name.  
"How could I not know you?" he rasped, perplexion written across his face. "You are my Christine. You haunt my dreams, you observe my downfall, you stand as my goddess every day of my life. You are all there is."  
She smiled oh so gently at him, and Erik felt blinded by her radiance. He would never adjust to it, he knew that and accepted it in a breath. "Oh, Erik. My love. You are right- I saw all." She lifted a pale, smooth hand, and revealed the beautiful ring he had given her, brilliant diamond. "I saw every gift, felt every embrace. My Erik, how long have I yearned to be held by you, and to be able to hold you in return! I heard your voice but could not respond, felt your love but could not tell you of mine. Finally I can touch you now- as I have dreamed!" She flung herself into his arms, and his body responded immediately, clasping her to him safely, even if his mind was still whirling.  
"But to know that I have cause you pain…" he was halted by her lips, so soft and fleeting that he barely felt them.  
"No, no, my love. Please. We are together now."  
He smiled for the first time since he could remember, as he realised she was right. But it was a short smile, as he gazed at her and realised… how could he have forgotten? Stupid man that he was, how could he forget?  
"You must leave now."  
His heart shattered as he watched her face fall, as her eyes drained of light and she looked at him with confusion and horror.  
"W-what do you mean?" Christine was on the verge of tears, and they began to spill over as he spoke.  
"You cannot stay here, with me. You cannot want to. Look at me, Christine!"  
"Yes, Erik, look at you." She lifted his hand in hers, and gazed at it. "Look at these strong hands, so mighty, and yet so gentle, to create me, forcefully pulling me out of the stone, and yet creating every detail with a feather-light touch." She brushed back his hair from his face. "Look at your eyes, they are like an oasis on a hot day, beautiful and deep, and they contain your soul. And your face," she said as he looked away from her perusal, "such strong lines. A handsome jaw, and beautiful lips, it tells me I am safe."  
"No, you don't understand… this is no life for you! I live in a cave under a city of dirt and misery. I see no one and no one sees me. I could not bear making you live such a life."  
"Could you not?" asked his angel. "Not even if I begged it of you? Please, Erik. I do not care where we are or who is around us. I want only to wake in the day to see you beside me. That is all I have ever wanted. Please... Please, Erik. Do not make me go. Doing so would be enough to kill me!"  
Again, those instincts, he could never let any harm come to his angel, never. He brushed his hand along her jaw, so lightly, as he studied her. He learned what colour her eyes were, and how her hair had so many different shades in different lights. He added that to the other things he had learned, to how his name sounded when it rolled off her perfect lips, to the way she tilted her head so slightly to the left when he made her happy. The way her long, long curls seemed to love him, they were constantly reaching over to caress his arms and chest. He looked to her hands, how gentle they were, smooth like the marble she came from, but soft. So soft, like all of her, and creamy alabaster. Her large, doe-like eyes watched him as he looked at her, and then he answered her in the only way he could- his lips curled up and he smiled.  
Christine understood- of course she did. She understood him in the way only a woman in love can- with her heart.  
And tears fell from her eyes again as she embraced him.

\----------

ANOTHER YEAR LATER

They were already man and wife, they had been so from the moment Erik had purchased that block of stone so long ago. Now, they worked together. Erik made room for her in his cave, and they were happy. She slept with him, ate with him, bathed with him, and listened while he composed. She noticed his music was different from how it was before. It was somehow... Lighter. Less burdensome. She loved every one of his songs with all her heart. As she cleaned up from the meal they just finished, she listened to him play, he knew she loved to hear him play and so played for her often, and a small smile crept across her features as she called him to the evening meal.

THE END


End file.
